


from the heart

by omoiyaris



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Timeskip, it is literally just about a birdhouse, this is about a birdhouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26803780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omoiyaris/pseuds/omoiyaris
Summary: “I am building,” Kenji says tersely, “a birdhouse.”Futakuchi tries to do something nice for his boyfriend.
Relationships: Aone Takanobu/Futakuchi Kenji
Comments: 26
Kudos: 185





	from the heart

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes self care is writing a niche fic for an audience of (2). this is mostly for me but also for wen who did not think i was crazy when 'established relationship aofuta' immediately turned into 'and then there was a birdhouse' even though it makes no sense.

Kenji is in the living room when Aone wakes up and wanders over, stifling a yawn behind his hand. The contents of a DIY crafts kit are spread out in front of him; he’s been squinting down at these instructions for what has to have been an hour at the very least and is no closer to figuring them out. 

This is a _crafts kit_ meant for ages 12-16. It should not be this challenging to conquer. With a grim set of his mouth, Kenji abandons the instructions in favor of a technique he likes to call ‘throwing shit together in hopes it’ll work out.’

Aone looks at him quizzically as he heads to the kitchen for a glass of water. His eyes are still heavy with sleep, and he looks adorably rumpled when he returns and takes a seat beside Kenji, wordlessly reaching for the instructions.

“This is,” Aone begins, then stops, and the absurdity of all this is maybe five seconds away from fully sinking in. He beats Aone to the punch. 

“I am building,” Kenji says tersely, “a birdhouse.” 

People often mistake Aone as unexpressive, but Kenji feels like it’s not all that difficult to read him if you’re willing to take the time to learn. He’s been studying, cataloguing, _analyzing_ his reactions since he was fifteen; understanding what Aone means but doesn’t vocalize is like instinct now, as simple and uncomplicated as breathing. 

Right now, for example, the crease between his eyebrows and the slight tilt of his head both scream one thing: _why?_

Kenji deftly avoids the question. “Crafting is supposed to be a relaxing hobby,” he says instead, threading his hands together behind his head. He doesn’t feel relaxed. He feels irritated and completely fucking inadequate. He’s not used to being terrible at things, maybe because he tends to avoid shit he can’t grasp as a rule. 

Folding the instruction sheet into a neat little square, Aone hands it to Kenji, who accepts it reluctantly, and turns his attention to the balcony doors. It’s early yet; Aone usually takes this time to refill the feeder for the birds that often gather around their building. Kenji swears Aone just naturally attracts them to himself, like some kind of Disney princess. 

The soft smile Aone wears—faintly visible, utterly relaxed—when a bird decides to stop by their apartment is the whole reason Kenji’s suffering through putting together this deceptively simple and unexpectedly expensive birdhouse kit he ordered online in a 3 a.m. sleep-deprived haze last week. 

“Fuck birds,” Kenji says, without feeling. He can acknowledge that he’s the problem and still feel comfortable blaming his woes on something else.

Aone chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that comes straight from his stomach. “Birds have done nothing to you.”

“Still,” he grumbles. “I don’t like ‘em.”

He expects Aone to make an impassioned—well, impassioned for _him_ —defense of his feathery friends, but his lips merely twitch into a small smile before fading into concern. “Kenji.” Aone puts a hand on his arm. “You forgot breakfast.” 

“Oh—right.” He’d been so caught up in the assembly that he hadn’t bothered to worry about food. Climbing to his feet, Kenji tosses the instruction sheet on top of the pile and stretches. “I’ll make something. What do you want to eat?”

But Aone shakes his head and makes for the kitchen. “Let me,” he says. Kenji wants to protest, to say, _I’ll do it_ , but he knows that this is how Aone is most comfortable expressing his feelings—gestures, big and small, shouldering burdens for the people he cares about, doing whatever he can to make them comfortable and happy. 

Honestly, Kenji’s a better cook than he is, but Aone looks so content in the kitchen whenever he’s cooking a meal that Kenji rarely bothers pressing the issue. 

Aone’s food is still delicious, so either way, he wins. 

* * *

There is probably an easier way to show your boyfriend you love him than building him a birdhouse (or whatever this is). Kenji wouldn’t know. Aone’s always been better at romance than he has; since they started dating, he’s never once doubted that Aone loves him. Even if his displays of affection aren’t dramatic and over the top, Kenji often gets swept up in them regardless. 

Meanwhile, he’s still awkward about the whole love thing sometimes. Not being in it, but being _romantic_ —maybe because he and Aone were friends for so long before they got together. The transition from one ‘ship’ to another wasn’t seamless for them; it was bumpy, stuttering, filled with starts and stops and awkward fumbling. 

(The first time they kissed, he’d laughed—nothing about the situation had been particularly funny, but in the moment, he’d felt—well, he’d felt like laughing, and then Aone had chuckled along with him, and Kenji thought, _hey, does this feel really, annoyingly perfect to you too?_ )

So he wants to do something meaningful for Aone, because he deserves it and Kenji doesn’t think he should wait for special occasions to do these things. He might’ve also watched a romance movie on Ennoshita’s recommendation earlier with a dashing male lead who was forever showering his love interest with Deep, Meaningful, Personal Gifts, but that’s whatever. 

Their apartment building has a strict _no pets_ policy, which sucks, but Kenji is pretty sure the birds who perch on their balcony sometimes can’t be classified as pets, exactly, even if Aone does feed them. He once suggested capturing one in a birdcage since Aone seems to like them so much, but Aone frowned and said no, he wanted them to be free to come and go. 

There’s one in particular, a small and active Japanese Tit that Aone goes out of his way to take care of. Kenji thinks he likes the bird because it reminds him of Karasuno’s #10. Maybe he should feel jealous over that. He’s definitely petty enough that he would, were it not for the fact that he trusts Aone as much off the court as he does on. If Aone says he loves him, Kenji isn’t going to do him a disservice by doubting his feelings. 

So. Birdhouse, in hopes the lil’ bird makes the place a temporary home. Except the element of surprise is gone and Kenji can’t seem to build one properly, and it probably shouldn’t come as a surprise that he fails at being romantic, but—

Next time, he thinks, it’ll be easier to just stick to Deep, Meaningful, Personal sex. 

* * *

Despite his setbacks, Kenji is determined to finish the birdhouse. Aone offers to help, but eventually leaves him to his own devices and heads out to pick up some groceries. Normally, Kenji would accompany him, but he’s on a mission; he doesn’t leave things half-done. 

His first completed attempt looks, more or less, like a wooden box pieced together from scrap lumber and lacks any kind of opening. The second is marginally better, though nothing seems to fit the way it should. Kenji has to break everything apart and put it back again once more before he’s satisfied that this is… the best it’s going to get. 

When Aone returns from the supermarket, he finds Kenji painting his name on the side with a complicated expression on his face. “You finished,” Aone says, with mild surprise. 

“Ah, yeah—finally. It’s not… hm.” He stops painting and stares at it critically. Even to the untrained eye of a twenty five year old who thinks the height of aesthetics is a wall scroll of Agumon, it’s ugly. Kenji hoped it would be more… polished? pleasing to look at? considering it’s a gift from the heart, but—

“I like it.” Aone sets the bags down on the counter and comes over. He crouches down until he’s level with the birdhouse and rests his hands on his knees. “It has character.”

“Takanobu, that’s something people say about _ugly_ things.” 

Aone frowns. “I like it,” he repeats. 

“Yeah, well.” Kenji finishes the last stroke and sets the brush down. “It’s for you, so. I guess I should be relieved.” 

Aone’s clear-eyed gaze swivels to him. “Me?” He sounds surprised, although Kenji didn’t try to hide it. “Why?”

Kenji shrugs. “I just—“ _wanted to be romantic_ “—felt like it.” It’s not really embarrassing to say out loud, but he doesn’t want to admit it either, suddenly feeling oddly vulnerable over his crapsack birdhouse. With a wince, Kenji stands up and grimaces at his palms. Working with wood is always such a pain. “I’ll help you put stuff away and deal with these damned splinters later.” 

Eyes widening imperceptibly in alarm, Aone climbs to his feet. “No,” he says, forcefully enough to make Kenji stop in his tracks. He blinks as Aone pulls a first aid kit out of a cupboard and settles on the couch before looking at Kenji pointedly. 

“Hey, Takanobu, it’s not that big of a deal—”

“ _Sit_.” Kenji obediently sits and holds his hands out, palm up, as Aone rummages around in the first aid kit. He disinfects a pair of tweezers before turning back to Kenji, who blanches at the sight of them. He’d rather just suffer than have anyone dig around. 

But Aone is careful and gentle as he pulls the splinters from his palms. It hurts, sure, but not as much as he expects it to. The warmth from Aone’s palm and his look of absolute concentration distracts him from complaining. Mostly. 

“This is so embarrassing,” Kenji says after a long pause. He should’ve been smart enough to wear gloves instead of having to sit here like an unruly child while Aone takes care of him.

“Mhm.” Aone’s silence often reveals as much as his expressions do. Right now, a sense of faint disapproval radiates from him, entangled with worry. “Be more careful,” he says finally, his tone gently chiding. 

He smiles wryly. “You’re supposed to say, ‘thank you, Kenji, for being sexy and thoughtful and building this super cool birdhouse with your bare hands. You’re the best boyfriend. Don’t forget sexy!’.” 

Aone doesn’t respond, his focus instead on pulling the last of the splinters from Kenji’s palm. Once he’s finished, he returns the tweezers to the first aid kit but doesn’t let go of Kenji’s hands. “Thank you,” he says, and Kenji inexplicably feels his ears grow hot when faced with the sincerity in his eyes and voice. “For being the best.” His thumb brushes over a patch of tender skin, and Kenji wants to whine that it’s _unfair_ Aone can still make him feel like an awkward, fumbling idiot in the midst of his first date after three years of being together—but hell, it’s not like he wants to _lose_ this either. 

“Don’t _actually_ say it,” he mumbles, wanting to hide his face. But Aone’s still holding his hands and he’s reluctant to let go. 

“You wanted me to.” 

“I was being bratty,” Kenji admits. He knows Aone doesn’t mind, and so he pushes it further and pulls him into a kiss. Their teeth knock together, and in his rush, Kenji accidentally bites Aone’s lip hard enough to draw blood, but—whatever. _Whatever_. Sloppy, messy, awkward—his heart still strains against his rib cage when Aone touches him, his brain still turns to mush as Aone deepens the kiss, his every cell is still desperate to show Aone that— _I love you, I love you, I love you._

(Aone still, _still_ tastes like the love of his life.

Or whatever.) 

When they pull apart, Aone lets out a small breath and touches the tip of his tongue to blood still clinging to his lips. “Whoops,” Kenji says, not sounding sorry. Aone seems to expect that and wraps his arms around Kenji in a cozy embrace. Kenji makes no move to pull out of it. 

“It’s a shitty birdhouse,” he says after a while, shifting eyeing the offending object lying there on the table, looking innocent. It really is maybe the worst thing he’s ever attempted to make, but Aone bristles at his words, ready to defend its honor, and fine. _Fine_. Kenji concedes that maybe it’s not all that terrible. “Ah well,” he says. “Hope it attracts a ton of birds.”

“Mhm.” Aone’s smile is content, and Kenji wants to imprint it into his mind. “Me too.”

* * *

* * *

* * *

Kenji jolts awake at four am to the sound of fucking birds singing. 

“I didn’t think this through,” he mumbles, pulling his pillow over his head. Beside him, Aone stirs long enough to locate the source of Kenji’s ire and smiles before putting an arm around his waist and drawing him closer. 

“Thank you, Kenji,” Aone says, his lips brushing against Kenji’s ear, and Kenji is sure the mirth hidden in Aone’s voice is directed at his current predicament but—well. He’ll let it go this time.

“Fucking birds,” Kenji says, pressing himself against Aone’s chest before closing his eyes and falls asleep to the sound of the steady, rhythmic beating of his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> years later, aone's cleaning the birdhouse when he finds an engagement ring there. it is not an elaborate proposal orchestrated by futakuchi; he simply left the door open one day and a bird swooped in, stole the ring, and left.
> 
> this is like the second most self-indulgent thing i've ever written but. sometimes it's like that. anyway!! thank you for reading, and find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bokuto_mp4) if you're so inclined!


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